


So Let Me Kiss You

by Avelyesqe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, also kind of angsty, like this took forever to write ugh, moderately fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelyesqe/pseuds/Avelyesqe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac has loved Jehan since forever, but Jehan's been with Montparnasse, and it had all started off fairly innocently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Let Me Kiss You

It had started off pretty innocently. Courfeyrac had just gotten up on stage and dedicated the song to Jehan (“Jehan, my darling and beautiful little poet, I this is for you”).  
  
 _Oh, I just wanna take you anywhere that you like_

 

When it started he grooved his way down to the small poet, who looked both absolutely thrilled and positively horrified. But somehow Courfeyrac had managed to turn the Top 40 pop song into something much more inappropriate. In his grooving, Courfeyrac had managed to maintain a steady and clear tone in his (admittedly decent) singing voice and his grip on the mic while he straddled Jehan, practically giving him a lap dance.

 

_And if you, you want me too_

 

Their friends (with the exceptions of Eponine, Combeferre, and Grantaire) were terribly confused and justifiably horrified. This was the closest any of them would ever get to seeing Jehan and Courfeyrac sleep together, and they all instantly regretted having eyes. Enjolras turned his face away, blushing so hard that he almost matched his maroon sweater .

 

_If you don’t wanna take it slow_

 

Marius tried to block Cosette’s eyes with his hands while he squeezed his own shut, desperately wanting to forget the brief couple seconds of dry humping he had seen. Feuilly smirked knowingly, while Bahorel, Bossuet, and Joly took bets on how long Jehan would let this continue (“He looks like he’s enjoying this.” “No shit, Joly.” “I’m just saying.” “Don’t be mean, Bahorel.” “He’ll probably let him finish the song.” “Of course. Can’t you see the way his eyes are lighting up?” “Didn’t we see Montparnasse when we walked in?” “I don’t think so…”).

 

_And you just wanna take me home_

 

Eponine, Combeferre, and Grantaire chatted about the merits of Courfeyrac’s grand gesture and ignored the obvious missteps their dear friend had taken (“Do you think he’s aware that this is Jehan’s current guilty pleasure?” “I wouldn’t call it guilty, Combeferre.” “He blasts it when he thinks I’m sleeping or hungover.” “Either way good move, Courfeyrac. You finally did something right, buddy.” “Don’t be mean, Eponine.” “I’m being super supportive. What are you talking about, ‘Ferre?”).

 

_If everytime we touch_

_You get this kind of rush_

 

When the song was over, Courfeyrac dropped the mic onto the couch beneath them, cupped Jehan’s petite face in his hands, gazed into the poet’s soft eyes, and whispered into his ear “ _so let me kiss you_.” Without waiting for a response, Courfeyrac laid a gentle kiss on Jehan’s left cheek. When he pulled back, Jehan looked as if he was about to say something, but that is precisely when Montparnasse stormed over to Courfeyrac, ripped him off the couch, and punched him in the jaw. Everyone was on their feet at once.

 

To be fair to Montparnasse, he hadn’t thought Jehan had been serious when he said that they should break up. As far as he was concerned, Jehan was still his and always would be. Granted, this was most of the problem in the first place.

 

Courfeyrac generally liked hook ups more than he liked lasting, long term, serious relationships. It’s not that he couldn’t (or didn’t want to) commit; he had done it before. He just didn’t want to get too invested and have everything fall through (which has happened before, and Courfeyrac prefers spending his time happy and not broken and trying to sew back his romantic life when he can’t even find the broken seam in the first place). He also takes care of his sex life as if it was an actual living, breathing organism (though for any relationship that included Courfeyrac, this shouldn’t be a problem). And since Courfeyrac was, well, Courfeyrac, he was used to getting who he wanted. He wasn’t spoiled and it’s not as if he actively tried to attract every lonely heart in the city, but he is undeniably charming, more attractive than the average being, has a jovial demeanor and an endearing (and at times self-deprecating) sense of humor. No one can deny that he’s a pleasure to be around. The warmth in his personality is natural and it radiates around him, protecting him from the harsh cold of reality. Though, he found that he still wasn’t immune to feeling chilled-to-the-bone every now and then.

  
“I just don’t understand,” he sighed, letting his head fall into the couch pillow.

 

Eponine pat his back reassuringly before starting to rub circles over his shoulder blades.

“You’ll be all right, Courf.”

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire chimed in, moving towards the lump of Courfeyrac. “He’ll come around. Jehan’s a smart guy.”

A loud groan escaped Courfeyrac. He flipped himself over onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. “You guys don’t understand,” he began rubbing his temples. “He talks to me about how great Montparnasse is and how perfect and happy they are and how am I supposed to beat out Montparnasse with his motorcycle and gelled hair and sexy tattoos or whatever.”

 

Courfeyrac had stumbled over to Eponine’s flat after a particularly long and particularly exhausting conversation with Jehan about the pros of his relationship with Montparnasse. When Eponine opened the door and saw him (he looked exhausted and upset and completely out of character), she quickly pulled him inside and called Grantaire (who had theoretically been studying with Combeferre, but he was more interested in what Enjolras was doing while he was out, and Combeferre though that they both could use a break).

 

“Montparnasse’s not that great of a guy, Courf,” Eponine said softly. She would know. She dated him for quite a while before she finally had some sense knocked into her by the rest of her friends. It wasn’t a secret that Montparnasse had quite the knife collection and that on more than one occasion he would pull one on Eponine when she got too ‘independent’ for him. How Jehan had managed to avoid the sharp steel of one of his blades, she couldn’t image: Montparnasse had quite a temper. Then again Jehan was a lot better at being kind and gentle than she was.

 

“It doesn’t matter if he’s a great guy or not, Ep. He’s…” Courfeyrac struggled to find the right word, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was mentally flipping through a dictionary. “He’s too alluring, too exciting and too inciting for anyone to pass up.” He paused before adding, “let’s not forget he’s hot as hell. Even I would do him.” The ‘if I wasn’t in love with Jehan’ was implied.

  
No one, not even Combeferre, argued against him. Courfeyrac sighed.

 

“Let’s be real here, guys. I don’t have a chance. He’s like a sex god and I’m just a dumb Courf,” he said while self-consciously pulling on the ends of his curls. “I even rhyme with doof,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “And who would ever want to date a doof when they could have someone better?” The question was soft, almost a whisper, and undoubtedly addressed to himself or an imaginary god above. Courfeyrac, who had looked like a mess when they first started this little get together, managed to find enough energy in him to hate himself a little bit more than he had a couple of seconds ago. Without realizing it, a few tears had streamed down his cheeks and before he knew it, he had tucked his knees to chest, weeping and sobbing and wailing and just _crying_. After a moment of shock and utter confusion, Eponine quickly scurried to get him some tissues, while Grantaire stroked his back gently and Combeferre laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. When Eponine came back with tissues in hand, Courfeyrac managed to calm down enough to continue berating himself.

 

“He talks about how sweet Montparnasse is and how he bought him flowers or drove him to class on his bike,” Courfeyrac said without a hint of malice. “I can’t beat that.” He looked down at his hands and balled the tissues he was holding into a little ball. “I can’t even pretend to. What can I give Jehan that Montparnasse can’t?”

  
The other three don’t know if he’s addressing them or asking some mystical power to beam the answer to him. They don’t respond.

 

“The answer is nothing, if you didn’t know. Montparnasse is everything I am but with an edge. He’s like Courfeyrac 2.0. I’m just a boring run-of-the-mill guy, and Montparnasse is better looking and funnier and dresses better and he’s probably smarter and god knows he’s a better fighter and wow I just suck don’t I?” Courfeyrac looked at his friends with tears in his eyes before he took a sharp inhale and started sobbing again.

  
“Look at me,” he started between his breaths. “I’m crying ugly tears over a boy who I’ve loved forever but doesn’t love me back.”

At that, Eponine just about started crying too, but instead she took him into her arms and let him stain her shirt with his tears.

  
Courfeyrac was under the impression that Jehan was perfectly happy with Montparnasse. Jehan couldn’t blame him for that though. That’s what he wanted Courfeyrac to think, so the happy details were the only ones he told him. He didn’t want Courfeyrac to worry. He and Couf had been best friends since forever, and Jehan couldn’t imagine losing Courfeyrac to worry over Jehan’s relationship with Montparnasse. If he pretended everything was fine everything would eventually be fine (or so he was told). Courfeyrac delves whole-heartedly into every situation he’s put in. Jehan, having witnessed this behavior quickly become destructive, knows this better than anyone and wants more than anything for Courfeyrac not to lose himself while he’s trying to help someone else again (“It’s just who I am,” Courfeyrac had argued. “I just can’t not care about you guys. You’re really important to me and I wanna make sure you’re all all right.”).  Luckily, Jehan is smart and observant enough to know when to pull Courf back and when to let him surge onward.  
  
While Courfeyrac was crying in Eponine’s flat, Jehan in Montparnasse’s, busy being yelled at by no other than Montparnasse himself. It had been a while since the start of the argument, long enough for Jehan to forget what they had originally been angry about. This was ridiculous, and he knew that, but something wouldn’t let him pull away from the man pacing angrily in front of him.

 

“Do you just not get it or something? Are you stupid?” Montparnasse glared at Jehan. “You can’t pull that shit in front of them. They already think I’m soft for all this,” he gestured encompassing at the entirety of his and Jehan’s relationship. “You can’t-you can’t do that anymore, Jean.”

  
He was talking about his and Jehan’s ‘romance.’ Jehan is rather fond of public displays of affection. Hugs make his days brighter and kisses give him the “warm fuzzies.” Montparnasse likes displays of affection too, when he and Jehan are by themselves in a corner as far away from everyone else. He prefers his romantic escapades to be private, and Jehan supposes that the initialism still works if the public displays are private instead.

  
Montparnasse likes Jehan, he really does. There’s something about Jehan’s softness (and the hidden ferocity underneath) that attracts him to the man. It’s something he himself lacks (and he’s starting to think it’s something he needs). But Montparnasse, no matter how much he likes Jehan, likes his pride more.

 

As Montparnasse’s verbal assault continued, Jehan considered if it was all worth it. He knew he made Courfeyrac think everything was perfect (and at times it was), but while Jehan was a romantic at heart, he wasn’t stupid (but even he has to admit that interrupting Montparnasse in the middle of his tirade was a bad idea).

  
“What?” the larger man snapped.

  
“I…I think we should take an…indefinite break,” Jehan said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

  
“Fine.”

  
Well that was easy.

 

Jehan looked at Montparnasse to try and gauge the other man’s reaction, but he found nothing but a cold apathy. When Montparnasse didn’t say anything (or even move), Jehan nodded quietly, grabbed his coat, and left.

 

Instead of going home he went straight to Coufeyrac’s, only to be disappointed when Marius told him that he went to Eponine’s a couple hours ago and hadn’t been back since. Jehan decided to wait for him.

 

He and Marius made some tea (for Jehan) and coffee (for Marius) and sat on the couch and talked for a while. They didn’t talk about anything important, just chatting casually. There was something wrong with Jehan though, Marius could tell. The little poet was lacking his usual energy and there was a noticeable difference even though Jehan was doing his best to act his normal self until he could talk to Courfeyrac.  
  
Courfeyrac stumbled in on the almost an hour later. While he felt better after being with Eponine, Grantaire, and Combeferre, he didn’t feel good. Jehan, of course, noticed immediately.

 

“What’s wrong?”  
  
Courfeyrac’s head snapped up from where he had been staring at the floor as he closed the door behind him.  
  
“Oh. Hi, Jehan.” He threw Marius a questioning glance.

Marius shrugged. “He came by about an hour ago looking for you and decided to wait.”  
  
At this, Courfeyrac looked carefully at his friend. He knew Jehan well enough to know that something (probably wonderful) had happened with Montparnasse and was relieved to see that his friend didn’t look physically harmed.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Jehan looked at Courfeyrac and gestured to his room. Courfeyrac immediately took Jehan by the hand and led him onto his bed. Marius decided to call Cosette and grab some food (whether he missed her (in the couple hours they had been apart) or didn’t want to interrupt his friends is anyone’s guess (probably a bit of both)).

 

As soon as they were sitting comfortably on the bed, Courfeyrac asked Jehan about what had happened.  
  
“I broke up with Montparnasse.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m not upset.”  
  
“You clearly are.”  
  
“Not too upset, at least.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Jehan shrugged. “He got mad at me again.”  
  
Courfeyrac looked at his friend inquisitively. “I thought everything was fine and dandy between you two?”

  
Jehan looked guilty. “I didn’t want you to worry.”  
  
“Jehan.”  
  
The small poet leaned into his friend’s chest. “I know, I know. But you know how you get.”  
  
“You can’t blame me for caring.”  
  
“I know.” He looked up at Courfeyrac and planted a small kiss on his friend’s chin. “I’m grateful.” Courfeyrac almost melted.  
  
After a few moments of a comfortable silence, Jehan questioned Courfeyrac about why he looked so out of it.  
Courfeyrac lied and said Eponine had called him crying over something Marius had done (once Jehan left, Courfeyrac texted Eponine and apologized for his fib. She replied saying that it was okay, she understood, and asked if he was feeling better. He responded with an ‘I don’t know’ and told her what happened. He spent the night at her place and they ate ice cream on her couch while watching bad action movies).  
  
A few weeks passed in relative normality. Courfeyrac was feeling a little bit better (“Okay, Casanova. Now’s your chance. You gotta sweep this little poet off his feet.” “Grantaire’s right. Do it before Montparnasse decides indefinite ends now.”) and Jehan seemed to smile more than he did while he was with Montparnasse.  
  
Then the news that Jehan had slept with Feuilly broke out.

 

Enjolras had found out first. He, Feuilly, and Joly had been talking about an upcoming rally when Feuilly mentioned it in passing. Joly, being Joly, quickly dictated the precautions one should take when sleeping with a new partner, while Enjolras said nothing.  
The news had gotten to Bossuet through Joly, and Bossuet then let it slip to Musichetta, who told Bahorel when they happened to cross paths in the grocery store. Bahorel went home and hugged Feuilly tightly, congratulating him on finally getting laid again (“Congrats on the sex!” “Bahorel, you sound like Courfeyrac.”). Eponine heard through Bahorel, who had been expressing his relief that his roommate wasn’t hardcore obsessing over Poland as much anymore, while they were waiting for Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac to start their weekly meeting. She blanched immediately after the words had come out and spent the entire meeting observing Courfeyrac, Jehan and Feuilly. She thought it important that they weren’t sitting anywhere near each other. After the meeting she pulled Grantaire and Combeferre aside as everyone else was leaving.

“So we need to have an intervention with Courfeyrac.”  
  
“Why?” Combeferre asked.  
  
“Jehan slept with Feuilly.”  
  
Grantaire ran his hand through his hair. “Shit.”  
  
“Pretty much.”

 

The three of them were plotting a course of action when Courfeyrac practically bounced over.  
  
“So guess what?” He half sang.  
  
“What…?” Eponine asked tentatively.  
  
“Jehan and I are going out on Thursday,” Courfeyrac squealed. “I just asked him if he wanted to do something and he said yes. It’s not technically a date, but it doesn’t matter,” he had a devious glint in his eye. “I’ll make it one.” He winked and then started to saunter off when Combeferre grabbed his wrist.  
  
“Listen, Courfeyrac. I don’t think that’s the best idea.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Combeferre looked down, but he didn’t let go of his friend. “Jehan slept with Feuilly.”  
  
Even though Combeferre hadn’t been looking, he could tell that Courfeyrac crumbled.  
  
“Oh,” he said, all mirth gone from his voice. Combeferre could feel him start to shake and let go when Eponine drew him into a hug. She pat his head comfortingly (which was moderately difficult as she was a good four or five inches shorter than he was).  
  
No one said anything as they made their way to Grantaire’s car and drove back to Eponine’s place. As soon as they got there and Eponine opened the door, Courfeyrac collapsed face-down on the couch and Grantaire went to the kitchen to get him some comfort food. Courfeyrac didn’t cry this time.  
“What’s the point,” he asked while staring blankly at the ceiling. “It’s obvious that my tears won’t help me here.”

 

Courfeyrac couldn’t tell you when he fell in love with Jehan. He and the poet had always been best friends, but somewhere along the way something had changed. Suddenly all Courfeyrac noticed was the way Jehan’s fingers moved when he was braiding his hair or the way his wrist moved when he wrote. He spent his days thinking of the poet’s smile and he spent his nights dreaming of the day that Jehan would smile for him. He could tell you all of Jehan’s favorite movies and songs and books and poems and authors. He could tell you a lot of things about Jehan (like how he loves cuddling and likes cuddling on Enjolras and Combeferre’s couch the best (it’s the softest, he says), how he understands what plants need to grow and thrive better than any botanist (it’s easier, he says, if you treat them like people instead of plants), or how he tucks his pen behind his left ear when he can’t write and isn’t feeling well). He bets that Jehan has noticed, though he’s tried his best to hide it: his realization coincided with Montparnasse and Jehan getting together. If he has noticed, Jehan hasn’t said anything about it.  
  
And that’s the attitude Courfeyrac decided to adopt in light of this new information. He didn’t say anything about it (and if not saying anything made it any less real, Courfeyrac wouldn’t say) to Jehan or Feuilly or anyone. He ignored it and promised to continue on as best as he could. Combeferre, Grantaire, and Eponine quickly found that ‘as best he could’ meant that he wouldn’t physically die. They were all pretty sure that some part of Courfeyrac had withered away (whether it had died or it was waiting to be restored, no one could tell. They just knew that Courfeyrac was horribly out of character and only a few of them knew why (After one of their meetings, Eponine pulled Feuilly aside and mentioned it. “He looked awful when I told him,” she had said. “He didn’t know, Courf. So maybe Jehan doesn’t either.” “You told him?” “Oops…” “’Ponine!” “Sorry!” “What if he tells Jehan?” “He won’t.” “Are you sure?” “No…”).

 

Courfeyrac was sitting on his bed throwing a tennis ball at the opposite wall when Combeferre knocked.  Courfeyrac kept throwing the ball.

“Leave me to die in peace.”

  
“It’s me.”  
  
“That’s not leaving.”  
  
Combeferre opened the door slightly and peeked in. “Glad to see you’re alive, at least.”  
  
Courfeyrac glared at him and threw the ball at his head. He missed and the ball hit his door and rebounded into his closet. He watched it as it rolled into oblivion.  
  
Combeferre observed his friend as he took a seat next to him on his bed. He looked tired and unnaturally (for Courfeyrac at least, since he was usually brighter than the sun) downtrodden. His shoulders slumped more than Combeferre had thought possible and his usually curly hair was flat. Combeferre wondered when his friend had last showered as well since Courfeyrac was still wearing what he had been on two days ago (thank God for weekends).  
  
“How’ve you been?”

 

Courfeyrac pursed his lips. “The love of my life is probably sleeping with another one of our friends right now, so I’m just dandy.”

 

“Courfeyrac, it’s not like that.“

 

“Then what’s it like?

“He…he just doesn’t know how you feel about him.”  
  
“I’m not a subtle person, Combeferre. If he hasn’t noticed then he must really not care about me.”  
  
“You know that’s not true. Feuilly didn’t notice either.”  
  
“Feuilly’s a ginger.”  
  
“Courfeyrac!”  
  
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He smiled, something Combeferre hadn’t seen in a couple of days. But the smile faded quickly and was replaced by the empty look everyone had gotten used to seeing.  
  
“Courfey—“  
  
“What are you gonna tell me that’s going to make anything different, Combeferre?”

 

Combeferre recoiled. He knew Courfeyrac wasn’t in the best mindset and that he didn’t mean it, but it still hurt. He tried his best to not look upset and pat Courfeyrac on the back.  
  
“Why don’t you try and change it then? Make it different yourself.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing’s happened between Feuilly and Jehan, right?” Combeferre checked to make sure Courfeyrac was paying attention and continued when the other man nodded. “So why don’t you do what you do best and sweep him off his feet. A grand gesture or something.”  
  
Courfeyrac concentrated on Combeferre’s face, looking for any sign of malicious intent (not because he thought Combeferre had any, but because he gets suspicious when he’s upset). When he found none he played with the idea in his head, bit his lip and then fell into Combeferre’s lap. Combeferre promptly began running his hand through his friend’s hair (which really need to be washed. “Wow. Uh, Courfeyrac, when was the last time you showered?” “Uhm.” “Ew.” “Sorry.”)  
  
Courfeyrac rolled over onto his back and looked up at Combeferre, whose glasses were falling down his nose. Courfeyrac reached up to push them back. “Do you think it’ll work?” His eyes were wide and hopeful again. Combeferre honestly wasn’t good at romance or at understanding Courfeyrac, but he liked having the regular Courfeyrac back. But he was also very good at being honest. He shrugged. “It might.”  
  
Courfeyrac frowned at this and looked away.  
  
“Courfey—“  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“No.” Combeferre’s tone was harsh and he glared at Courfeyrac until the other man looked at him. “Listen to me.” Courfeyrac started to turn away again, but Combeferre grabbed his head and held it in place, intently staring into his friend’s eyes. “You love Jehan. And you two have been best friends since I can remember knowing either of you. There’s a good chance he likes you too.”  Courfeyrac tried turning again, but Combeferre continued to hold him in place. Instead, Courfeyrac bit his lip.  
  
“You know him better than any of us. He’s a true romantic. You’re…you. You’re naturally funny, charming as anything, and we all know you’re rather…attractive.You can be anything you want to.” Combeferre paused and looked at his friend fondly.  
  
“Okay, and?”  
  
“And you want to be his boyfriend. So do it.”  
  
Courfeyrac smiled sheepishly and Combeferre let go of his friend’s face, having said what he had wanted to.  
  
“I am the master of grand gestures,” Courfeyrac said ever so humbly. But it didn’t matter how ‘humble’ Courfeyrac was, because as he sat up Combeferre could see the gears in his theatrical little brains turning.  
  
“You are,” Combeferre admitted.  
  
Courfeyrac beamed. “You really think it could work?”

 

“It could.”  
  
But it didn’t matter how unsure Combeferre was, because Courfeyrac was making big plans and watching them unfold in his head. His mind’s eye saw songs and lights and Jehan and shared looks and quiet kisses and fierce kisses and Jehan and dark rooms and picnics and Jehan and cuddling and romance and Jehan and both impossible and possible dreams. He knew what Combeferre said was true and he knew what he wanted and _goddammit_ he was going to woo Jehan so hard Jehan wouldn’t even know his name anymore because Courfeyrac is the goddamn master of the grand fucking gesture.

Courfeyrac rolled of the bed and started getting ready for the extensive planning of his grand gesture. He busied himself with cleaning his room and picking a song and thinking about Jehan’s smile and forgot Combeferre was there, quietly sitting on his bed and watching his friend go mad with all the energy he had misplaced the past couple days. Courfeyrac managed to steady himself enough to stop flitting around and walk over to Combeferre.  
  
“You really think I’m pretty?” He asked deviously.  
  
“I believe I said attractive,” Combeferre said straight-faced.

 

“Either way,” Courfeyrac prompted with a grin.  
  
Combeferre laughed. “Yes, we are all aware of how pretty you are.”  
  
Courfeyrac made a noise that was almost a squeal and kissed Combeferre square on the lips.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Courfeyrac said with a wink before leaving his room with a pile of laundry. Combeferre sat on his bed, dumbfounded, before Courfeyrac popped his head back into his room.  
  
“But thanks. Really,” he said with a smile. He disappeared after that and Combeferre could hear the shower running in the bathroom.  
  
Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, but got up to leave. On his way out, he ran into Courfeyrac, who was only wearing a towel. He gave Combeferre a seductive wink before walking into the bathroom.  
  
“What have I done?” Combeferre shouted after his half-naked friend. He could hear Courfeyrac singing in the shower as he closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 While Combeferre and Joly pull Courfeyrac over to one of the benches so he could lie down, the rest of their friends faced Montparnasse and his lovely gang.  
  
“Jean,” Montparnasse grunts, relatively calm for someone who just punched another man in the jaw.  
  
“Why are you here?” Jehan asks, unafraid of Montparnasse. Eponine and Bahorel stand behind him protectively, ready to play a dangerous game.  
  
“I heard you and your little friends would be here,” he says, skimming over the faces of Jehan’s friends. “I didn’t think one of them was stupid enough to try to make a move.”  
  
“Why’s it matter? We broke up.” Jehan tenses, remembering that night.  
  
Montparnasse doesn’t respond and instead fixes his eyes on Jehan. The poet has a point of course. They did break up. There’s no legitimate excuse for Montparnasse’s actions, but he misses Jehan (who wouldn’t), but he’s far too proud to admit it aloud, especially in public and in front of everyone. He purses his lips uncertainly, but doesn’t look away.  
  
“Why don’t you just go home,” Eponine snarls at him, stepping in front of Jehan. Babet’s reached for his knife and she know Courfeyrac will never forgive any of them if they let Jehan get hurt.

“Oh, ‘Ponine, you don’t mean that,” Montparnasse teases. “You should come back to me and stop hanging around with this crowd. They’re not good for you.”  
  
“They’re not the ones who thought it’d be a great idea to punch someone in the middle of a karaoke bar.” She steps forward to stand in front of Montparnasse. He’s a few inches taller than her, but he can still feel the hatred in her gaze. “No one loves you, Montparnasse,” she hisses quietly, almost a whisper. She’s sure no one else can hear her (and they can’t). “No one could ever love a snake so greasy his own scales fall off.” She grins deviously at him, knowing exactly what to say to make him shake. “So why don’t you just go home with one of your precious little hookers before your friends start to think you actually have feelings for such a small man.”  
  
He’s still making eye contact with her, but she can see his aggression be overtaken by fear and doubt. “Does it hurt,” she asks, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, “knowing that you can’t manage to keep anyone? Knowing that you’re not good enough for them to want? Knowing that no matter how tough you seem to be—“

 

She’s cut off as he grabs her wrist with one hand and the front of her shirt with the other. Grantaire and Bahorel lung forward to help her, but she stops them with her free hand. She’s unafraid as he pulls his knife out; she’s been waiting for this. In a quick movement she manages to grab spin Montparnasse around and force him to his knees. She holds him down with one arm while using his knife to trace the back of his neck.  
  
They’ve never seen her like this: dangerous. But they don’t to marvel as Babet dives towards her. Bahorel intercepts him before he reaches her, but that only starts a larger brawl. Jehan tries to help, but Grantaire pulls him out of the fray.  
  
“Go check on Courfeyrac. We’ve got it covered here.”  
Jehan nods, and the cynic smiles as he turns back to help Enjolras restrain Gueulemer.  

 

“C-Courfeyrac,” Jehan stutters as he sees the large bruise forming on Courfeyrac’s face. “Are you all right?”  
  
He doesn’t respond, but manages a small wave as the poet sits next to his friend.  
  
“I don’t think anything is broken,” Joly says as he examines Courfeyrac’s face for the third time. “But he’s already starting to bruise.” The pre-med student looks around worriedly. “I told Combeferre to go get some ice, but I doubt any of the employees are around. They’re all probably calling the police.” He sighs, but continues. “He wasn’t unconscious, which is good. But he’s definitely winded and might have a concussion. We just need to keep him awake.”  
  
Jehan runs a hand over Courfeyrac’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says guiltily, “this is all my fault.”

 

Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Jehan…” he starts, but Jehan shushes him.  
  
“You got hurt.”  
  
Courfeyrac tries his best to smile. “But it’s okay.”  
  
“You got punched in the jaw!” Jehan shouts, covering his face with his hands in shame. “And it’s all my fault.”  
  
Courfeyrac starts to push himself up to sit properly and Jehan helps steady him. “The only thing that’s your fault is making me fall in love with you.” Courfeyrac leans into Jehan’s shoulder. “And clearly this is the world punishing me for trying to tell you.” He sighs. “I messed everything up, didn’t I?”  
  
Jehan doesn’t respond and only runs a hand through Courfeyrac’s hair. He looks down at his bruised and bloody-lipped friend, only to find that Courfeyrac is looking back. Jehan shifts and Courfeyrac sits up. Courfeyrac sighs and looks into the poet’s eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. Nothing has to chage,” Courfeyrac says, but Jehan shushes him again and rubs his thumb over the undamaged side of Courfeyrac’s face. Jehan leans in and places their foreheads together before planting a soft kiss on Courfeyrac’s nose, but Courfeyrac pulls him in and places a firm kiss on the other man’s lips. To his surprise, Jehan kisses him back and wraps his arms around his neck. It’s a gentle kiss. Courfeyrac’s lip is swollen (and probably getting a bit of blood on Jehan) and Jehan doesn’t want to Courferyac to overexert himself after being punched, but the kiss is also wanting. Through its softness it speaks of the desire welling up in both of them. They part and in the background they can hear Enjolras talking to the police and Joly murmuring to Bossuet about Courfeyrac’s head injury (“That’s not good. Courfeyrac should be more careful.” “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” “He might have a stroke.” “I don’t think so, Joly. I think he’ll be just fine.” “How do you know?” “He’s with Jehan.” “That makes no difference!” “It makes all the difference.” “You don’t know anything! I’m the pre-med student!”), but it’s all petty and none of it matters. Not anymore. They’ve finally found each other. Jehan presses his head to Courfeyrac’s chest and they wrap their arms around each other, content in their little bubble of the world.

“ _Lay your sleeping head, my love,_

 _Human on my faithless arm;_ ” Courfeyrac whispers to Jehan as he rubs circles into his back.  
  
“Auden,” Jehan identifies, looking up.  
  
Courfeyrac nods.  
  
“When did you learn that?”  
  
“Last night.”  
  
Jehan can’t help but smile. “Why?”

  
“Beecaauuseee,” Courfeyrac draws out before smiling at Jehan and booping him on the nose.

 

Jehan leans in to Courfeyrac’s ear.  
  
“… _but from this night_

_Not a whisper, not a thought,_   
_Not a kiss nor look be lost.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OH WOW.  
> This is so long and so bad, I am so sorry about this.  
> For like the long and the bad and the angst reasons.  
> Also for the probably wildly incorrect character interpretation with Montparnasse. 
> 
> But anywho, this took me forever to write and was a big roadblock in my productivity, but I hope you kind of liked it maybe?
> 
> And oh yes.  
> The song at the beginning is One Direction's "Kiss You"  
> And the poem at the end is W. H. Auden's "Lullaby"


End file.
